


Silence is Easy

by SilverCyanide (LemonFairy)



Series: Legerdemain [11]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonFairy/pseuds/SilverCyanide
Summary: Combeferre gets found out, in one of the worst ways possible. Things go downhill from there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A) This is in the same universe as the rest of the series. I'm aware I haven't updated forever. Doesn't mean I'm not attached to this universe, just only have sporadic drabbles about it instead of the solid story-arc I was originally looking on. 
> 
> B) On the line of the first note, you don't need to read the rest of the series to read this. All u gotta know is people are real queer, Courfeyrac is transfem, these nerds are in college.
> 
> C) Content warning for semi-graphic thoughts associated with bulimic behaviors.

In the end, dangerous secrets always come out in the worst way possible. Combeferre’s bulimia was no exception. 

He’d been binging and purging regularly again for two months when it happens. He’s in the small apartment-style dorm that he and Enjolras share, bent over a double-bagged trash can in the living room with two fingers in his throat when suddenly the door opens. Enjolras and Courfeyrac, out early from a class, come striding in: Combeferre can’t stop the next few waves of vomit, since he’s already started purging, so Enjolras and Courfeyrac get a full, uninhibited view of Combeferre’s preferred coping mechanism. 

The two of them stop just past the doorway, shocked. Panic flares in Combeferre, even with the endorphins running through him, but externally he looks calm as he finishes the round of vomiting and pulls back to wipe his fingers on the damp washcloth he set nearby. 

“Hello,” he says calmly, like there is not an inferno of terror and anxiety raging inside him. “Erm, sorry you had to see this.”

There is a pregnant pause. 

“What the  _ fuck _ , Will!” Courfeyrac blurts. “What the-- _ what the fuck?! _ ” She gestures in front of her to the whole scene. 

“My apologies,” Combeferre says, voice calm and smooth. Trying to keep his movements in control, Combeferre gathers the wrappers and container from his binge, putting the empty ones in the trash and stacking the ones still half full atop the table. He carefully ties the bag of vomit shut before it can really start to smell, then looks up. Combeferre makes eye contact with both Enjolras and Courfeyrac, smiles, and says, “I’ll just be a moment,” before picking up the small trash bag and going to put it into the larger trash bin in their kitchen. He washes his hands thoroughly, scrubbing a little bit along his raw knuckles. 

When he turns back around to face the living room, Courfeyrac is still standing but Enjolras has taken a seat, zir head bowed and hands folded. Courfeyrac’s arms are crossed, her stance wide: the pose is so male that Combeferre is even more unsettled. 

Enjolras looks up, raising zir head. “We’re talking about this.”

“I’d rather not,” he says firmly.

“We’re talking about it,” Courfeyrac repeats. There’s no friendliness in her tone. 

Combeferre’s jaw sets. “Actually, given a conversation requires two-way communication, and given this is none of your business, we won’t be,” he tells her, and strides calmly into his room. 

Combeferre slumps against the door and immediately starts to cry. 

On the other side, Courfeyrac is pounding on the door. The handle jiggles, but Combeferre’s last moment prior to breakdown was locking the door. After a few minutes of yelling, she gives up and slumps down on the couch next to Enjolras. 

“I just don’t understand how we missed this,” Enjolras says softly after a couple of moments. Courfeyrac huffs in agreement. In the silence, they can hear Combeferre sobbing. 

Enjolras gets up. Ze knocks gently on Combeferre’s door. “Will,” ze says. “C’mon. Just--just come out. Or… or let me come in. Please.” 

The door unlocks. Combeferre comes out, red-eyed and snotty. He trudges to the bathroom without a word and blows his nose. Then he comes back out and settles himself on the far end of the couch. Enjolras sits down in between the two.

Finally, Courfeyrac breaks the silence.

“What’s going on?” she asks. Her tone is tinted red, but cooling down. Combeferre shrugs.

“It’s just… stress. A lot going on. It’s fine though.”

“It’s not fine,” Courfeyrac counters. 

“All right, not fine. Relapsing into bulimia’s not fine. But I’m handl--”

“No, clearly you’re  _ not _ handling it!” interjects Enjolras. 

Combeferre looks down at his hands, Courfeyrac raises her eyebrows, and all three of them are silent.

“All right,” he says, upset as well. “I’m not handling it. I’m not dealing with the stress now and I haven’t for the past few months. Is that what you want to hear?”

There are tears back in Enjolras’ eyes. “I don’t want to  _ hear  _ anything! That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?” Combeferre shoots back. His arms are crossed and pulled into himself, his ankles crossed. His body is rigid. “What the  _ fuck _ do you two want from me then?”

It turns out, neither knows. The silence stretches onward. 

“We’re scared,” Courfeyrac says eventually, her voice quiet and cracking. “We just--this isn’t normal for us, Will. This. . . you’re  _ hurting  _ yourself. And we’re--we’re scared, okay? Because we love you, and you shouldn’t have to hurt yourself.”

Combeferre bites back every immediate remark about how  _ he’s not hurting himself _ , about how  _ that’s sort of the point _ , about how  _ he wouldn’t trade this for anything _ (even if he would). He notices Courfeyrac is tearing up. Guilt wells up to replace some of the anger. 

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Enjolras’ voice wavers. Combeferre thinks ze might be crying, but he doesn’t want to look up from staring at the floor to check. 

“Because I’m handling it. Or was. Am. I don’t know. I’m in control of it, and it… I…”  _ I like it _ echos in the back of his head, but Combeferre knows he is not allowed to say that. “And because it felt like I didn’t have any other options.”

“How could you think that?” The hurt is clear in Courfeyrac’s voice. “Will, we’ve  _ always _ been here for each other.”

“IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE!” The sound echos through the tiny dorm. Combeferre swallows hard. “Sorry. Just… it’s not as simple as that. It’s…. I  _ can’t _ put things into words. I’ve never coped like that before.”

“All right,” Courfeyrac says, with gentleness he does not deserve. Enjolras is still trying to hold in zir sobs. “We can work with that. But Will--you can’t keep doing this.”

“It’s not that simple,” Combeferre repeats. 

“Addiction never is,” Enjolras inserts again. Even though there are tears on zir face still, zir voice is as firm and fierce as it usually is. The word choice makes a little spike of shame course through Combeferre. 

“There’s--there’s got to be help, at the campus counseling center, or student health, or somewhere in town. We’ll go with you if it hel--”

“No.” He can’t say it fast enough. “No, I’m -- I can sort things out on my own.” 

“That’s what got you here in the first place,” Enjolras answers. Combeferre does not have a reply. 

“Fine,” he says eventually, once the silence has stretched too thin. “I’ll look into getting help from there. But this stays between us, and it can’t become A Thing--if I want to talk about it, I will, but please don’t come to me asking.”

“That’s not fair!” Enjolras says at the same moment Courfeyrac says, “Of course.” Courfeyrac gives Enjolras A Look. Though it rarely happens, Enjolras backs down. 

“Okay,” ze says. “Just. . . please know you can always talk to us, when you can?” Combeferre nods.   Enjolras leans in closer to him and rests zir head on Combeferre’s shoulder.

“I’ll try—that’s a promise.”


End file.
